Being

  
Being
 
Within the madness of the world we’re in,
The smiles and silences remain serene,
Reminding us of petals and of peace.
 
Amidst the clamor of the marketplace,
And all the thunder of the zones of war,
Are sounds as soft as in a lover’s sigh.
 
********** 
 
To doubt is human, given loss of sight. 
And even hope, like all of life, can die. 
How hard, the truth! How easy still the lie!
 
In all our aspects, there is kind-and-harsh.
So good and evil always coexist
In every being and throughout the world. 

*********
 
As cruelty and cowardice compete,
There still is courage and the caring heart. 
The stench of greed, the scent of sacrifice—
 
They both exist and do so side by side.
Amidst despair and darkness, there is light. 
We cherish it, as thousands lose their lives.
 
********** 
 
How slick the evil are with practiced lies!
They do the devils’ work but speak of gods.
They spin, as comforts, dank and dark cocoons.

********** 

 
How much of torture and of pain and grief?
How much of blindness that is past belief?
These all exist—as does the quiet faith 
That turns from malice, answers hate with love. 

 

**********

  
We'll never change the ones who will not see.
In dying, as in life, we still can be
In touch with silence, being touched by grace, 
With every torture still as ours to face 
In deepest stillness, with the firmest faith.
  
********** 
 
Within the madness of the world we’re in,
The smiles and silences remain serene,
Reminding us of petals and of peace.
 
Amidst the clamor of the marketplace
And all the thunder of the zones of war
Are sounds as soft as in a lover’s sigh.
 
2025 September 15, Monday
Berkeley, California 
 

Orphan-2025-02-18

Orphan
 
I heard a distant wailing,
A moaning from afar.
I found an orphan crying,
Abandoned, in a war.

I found an orphan crying—
A little child, alone.
The sound was of a sobbing—
And then, at times, a moan.

I had heard a distant wailing,
A moaning from afar.
I had found an orphan crying, 
In the carnage of a war.

******

I went up to the orphan.
She looked at me in fright.
I bent to lift the orphan
As the daylight ebbed to night.

I lifted up that orphan.
I held her to my chest.
I saw her tears were shining
As the sunset lit the West.

I had found a little orphan
In the wreckage of a war.
I had found an orphan crying
In the madness of a war.

******

I looked for parents, siblings.
I found them, one by one.
A grandma lay there, dying.
Said, “Save the little one.”

I told her I would do that,
But did she understand?
She breathed her last and left us,
As I held her feeble hand.

******

How many little orphans?
How many children slain?
How many burned and crippled?
How many wracked with pain?

Whence—this cruel madness?
And why—these blinded hearts?
Go ask this, then, of “humans”,
As the light of life departs.

She once had loving parents—
But now was all alone.
Go ask them for the reason—
The ones whose hearts are stone.

******

I held that little orphan.
I held her to my chest.
I heard her growing quiet
As I walked towards the West.

I had found that little orphan,
Abandoned, in a war.
I saw a light was shining—
The brightening evening star.

I looked towards that planet
As it rose and shone above
The bodies, lying scattered,
That each was born of love.

2025 February 18, Tue.
Berkeley, California

Danob-03-দানব-০৩-Demons-03

 
‌দানব

হে হতভাগা প্রজাতি,
নির্লজ, নিষ্ঠুর, বিনাশী,
আতঙ্কের অস্ত্রে, ভয়ের শাস্ত্রে,
নরকের অভিজাত বাসী!

নিজেকে 'মানব' বলেও,
মানবিকতার করেছো ক্ষয়।
গর্বে, ছলনে, দানবের বেশে,
দানবিকতায় পেয়েছো জয়।

******

অশ্লীল, হিংস্র কাজে মেতে,
নিজের স্বার্থের উন্মাদ খোঁজে, 
হয়েছো ক্রমশ অশিব পিশাচ, 
মত্ত, বেদনা-ক্লেশের ভোজে।

বাহিরে-অন্তরে দেখে,
টের পেয়ে, ধ্বংসের রথে,
বিবেকের ডাকখানি শুনে,
ফিরে এসো শান্তির পথে।

সোমবার, ১৪ই অক্টোবর, ২০২৪ খ্রি.
বার্ক্লি, কালিফোর্নিয়া
--------------------------------------------
Demons

We are beings of the rabid species,
Shameless, cruel, destructive,
With weapons of terror and scriptures of fear—
The elites and enforcers of hell!

We may call ourselves 'human' and yet
We have destroyed our own humanity.
With lies and with pride in our monstrous ways,
We have triumphed in monstrosity.
‌
******

In obscene and violent acts,
In the mad pursuit of our “interests”, 
We have turned from humans to demons, 
Drunkenly feasting on suffering and pain.

Looking around, and looking within,
Perched on our chariots of destruction,
Hearing the call of conscience,
Let us turn to the path of peace.

Oct 14 and Nov 21, 2024
Translated from Bengali: Nov 21and 25
Berkeley, California

Danob-02-দানব-০২-Monster-02

 
দানব-০২
  
হে হতভাগা প্রজাতি, 
নির্লজ, নিষ্ঠুর, বিনাশী, 
হিংসা-লোভের শাস্ত্রে, 
ব্যথা-ভয়ের অস্ত্রে, 
নরকের জল্লাদ বাসী!
  
নিজেকে 'মানব' বলেও, 
মানবিকতার করেছো ক্ষয়।
গর্বে, ছলনে, দানবের বেশে, 
যুগে যুগে, দেশে দেশে,
দানবিকতায় পেয়েছো জয়।
 
১৪, ১৫, ২১ অক্টোবর, ২০২৪ খ্রি.
বার্ক্লি, কালিফোর্নিয়া 

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Monster-02 (Google's translation, lightly edited)

   

O wretched species, 

Shameless, cruel, destructive, 

With your scriptures of spite and greed, 

With your weapons of pain and fear--

The torturer of hell!

   

While calling yourself 'human', 

You have destroyed humanity.

In pride, in guile, in monster-guise, 

Throughout the ages, across this world,

You have won by your monstrosity.

  

14, 15, 21 October, 2024 

Berkeley, California 

Danob-01-দানব-০১-Demon-01

  
দানব-০১
 
হে হতভাগা প্রজাতি, 
নির্লজ, নিষ্ঠুর, বিনাশী, 
ব্যথার অস্ত্রে, ভয়ের শাস্ত্রে, 
নরকের জল্লাদ বাসী!
 
নিজেকে 'মানব' বলেও, 
মানবিকতার করেছো ক্ষয়।
গর্বে, ছলনে, দানবের বেশে,
দানবিকতায় পেয়েছো জয়।
 
১৪-১৫ অক্টোবর, ২০২৪ খ্রি.
বার্ক্লি, কালিফোর্নিয়া

------------------------------------------------------

Monster-01 (Google's translation, lightly edited)

   

O wretched species, 

Shameless, cruel, destructive--

With weapons of pain, with scriptures of fear, 

The executioner of hell!

   

While calling yourself 'human', 

You have destroyed humanity.

In pride, in guile, in monster-guise,

You have won by your monstrosity.

   

14-15 October, 2024

Berkeley, California

No Verses

 
No Verses
.
So many verses written—scribbled, typed,
And posted, sent to others far away.
So many more that come at times to mind—
From where—and wherefore—who can truly say?
.
Adrift upon the stream, we near the sea
And hear, afar, the waves that crash and roar.
We sense the dark—the endless, waiting deep.
No verses there—or minds—for evermore.
.
******
.
The dawn that once brought hope now brings despair
As tens of thousands die—or wish they could—
As those who live are filled with grief and pain—
And most, who witness, now have understood
.
That evil often triumphs, laying waste
To all that’s good and precious: tenderness
And quietude—and love and due respect—
As Mammon grins and profits from duress. 
.
****** 
.
How many are the ones who've died in waves,
As lands were conquered or were laid to waste, 
As guns and bombs replaced the clubs and swords,
And Greed and Fear infected all with haste?
.
I hear the children laugh; I hear them weep.
I hear the dying, burned and blasted, moan.
I fear departure, leaving those I know
To fend for selves, with others, or alone.
.
****** 
.
But who among us chooses time or place
To enter or to exit from the stage
On which we walk and act and say our words—
And then depart—at ripe or tender age?
.
The dusk, descending, whispers now of night,
And I will venture out, beneath the stars,
To breathe and try to find a passing peace,
As all around delight in distant wars.
.
****** 
.
So many verses written—scribbled, typed,
And posted, sent to others far away.
So many more that come at times to mind—
From where—and wherefore—who can truly say?
.
Adrift upon the stream, we near the sea
And hear, afar, the waves that crash and roar.
We sense the dark—the endless, waiting deep.
No verses there—or minds—for evermore.
.
2024 October 3rd & 5th.
Berkeley, California
.

Self and Other, True and False

 
Self and Other, True and False

Beware of those who claim that “we” alone
Are special, deem the “others” base—or worse.
“Be not beguiled by demagogues.” remains
The thrust of much I write in prose or verse.

Beware of “leaders”—those who lead, with words,

The rest of us to evil, breeding hates.

Let's cleanse our minds and hearts, before the acts

That follow fear and hatred seal our fates.

 

Beware of lies that masquerade as truths.

Be cautious, always, of the things you learn

From sources other than the here and now—

For every “nation proud” is fooled in turn.

 

Let's open mind and hearts to views and news

That contradict the ones we now may hold.

Let's free our vision, widen it in scope,

Discern the truth, reject the lies we’re told.

 

****** 

The line between the “self” and “other” serves
For function and defense—and that is all.
Observe that line—and watch that line dissolve.
Behold the One that manifests in All.

That One is naught but Sentience itself—
That seems fragmented. So, the predator and prey
Are each the same.  And this, we sentients know,
Although we’re trapped by rules that we obey.

And some of these are primal, dating back
To times primeval in the muck and slime
Where life emerged and then began to feed
On other life—as life has done through time.

But other rules are those we have imposed
On selves and others, through our human wiles.
And some may serve some purpose good, but some
Are part of all that poisons and defiles.

2024 April 11th, Thu.
Berkeley, California 

Grace and Strength

 
Grace and Strength

The rogues and rascals rise and rule.
Some cheer—as others weep.
Some say, “It's always been this way.”
Some search for reasons deep,
And others say that might is right—
And so enjoy their sleep.

We watch the scenes, on TV screens, 
Of horrors far away,
And wonder when these things will end—
And lo—it’s break of day—
But not the dawn of hope that brings
The peace for which we pray.

And here, and where I first saw light,
The time for polls is close.
Some lead the others by a mile
And others by a nose.
But whom to choose, among the rogues,
Is something no one knows,

Who’s taken time to see, to read—
To delve a little deep.
The more we learn, the worse we feel,
The more we’d like to weep!
But never fear—and persevere—
Until the final sleep!

For every three steps forwards, there
Are two steps back again.
And so we struggle now, as did
The ones who struggled when
The generations past had fought 
Their battles—but in Zen—

For when we lose that inner sight,
We also lose our way,
And so are led where rascals lead 
Us—more and more astray.
Inhale, exhale, and smile to greet—
The grace and strength of day.

2024 March 27th, Wed.
Berkeley, California 

Blindness, Evil and Greed

 
Blindness, Evil and Greed

“Out of sight is out of mind.”

And this, the rulers know.

So humans can be blasted, burned,

In places far away—

And other species tortured, killed, 

In places out of sight,

So those of us who do not see

Can watch our TV shows

And carry on, as if these things

Were mere imaginings.

 

And there are those, with hardened hearts,

Who find their entertainment

In parties on a hilltop, where

They watch the bombs exploding

Within the city they have cursed

As children burn and die—

A cause for celebration, since

They might “grow up to fight”.

 

So people who are prominent

Quite publicly declare

Support for endless massacres

And even loudly cheer

Destruction, death, and suffering,

Till those they see as “vermin”

That plague the promised land 

Are dead or fled and cleared.

 

So some are blind to evil, while

Some others seek revenge—

Not “an eye for an eye”, but a hundredfold—

Not soldiers fighting others,

But bombs that rain, for months on end,

On those defenseless, trapped—

On children, women, elders, men,

Removing limbs and skin,

And leaving others who survive

To perish, buried deep.

 

So some are blind or seek revenge,

And these are everywhere,

But others simply want to clear

The nuisance that resists—

That stands against their endless greed—

By chance—or act of will.

 

And these are they who start these things

And these are they who steer

The rest, through lies and influence,

Towards more and more of war.

 

So what we see in Gazza—that

Is not an aberration,

But just the latest episode

Within that local roil

Of death and grief and suffering

That never seems to end.

And there are others we forget

Or never even knew of, 

Who suffered through their genocides,

Unseen, unheard—as though

They never had existed.

And some, who visit where they lived,

May find their silent bones,

And linger, for a while, perhaps,

Where once they'd built their homes,

Deserted now—or filled with those

Who came and took their place,

Not knowing or reviling those

Whose crime was mere existence. 

We think these things are far away

In distance or in time,

And see no reason why we should

Be bothered by these troubles. 

Yet all the world is joined and one.

In blindness or in vision,

What happens there will happen here, 

Unless we see and act.

2024  January 25th, Thu.
Berkeley, California 
 

G1z1

 
G1z1
 
G1z1, G1z1, burning bright!
Thunder roaring through the night!
Which the mind that held this dream
Of hearing huddled thousands scream?
 
In what dark imagination
Rose this scheme to end a nation?
Of what matter
To whom will emptied parents cry?
 
Hear, beneath the weight of rubble,
Those who’ll soon be out of trouble—
Some within an hour or four,
Some within a week or more.
 

Hear the endless lie that spouts

From the shameless, lying mouths. 

See the faces, on the screen,

Perched on suits and ties obscene.

 
******

Draped in darkness lay the city,

Hoping for a trace of pity,

Praying for an end to lying,

Till the time arrived for dying.

Set alight, the parents burn.

To whom will muted orphans turn?

Stripped of skin, the children die.

To whom will emptied parents cry?

Hear, beneath the weight of rubble,

Those who’ll soon be out of trouble—

Some within an hour or four,

Some within a week or more.

Fifty days of searing pain.

See! It’s starting once again!

Fifty nights of burning flesh.

Hear! The torture starts afresh.

****** 

 
Believers raise their hands and eyes,
Beseeching still the G1z1n skies.
Firm remains their ancient faith,
Accepting will, divine, as fate.
 
For those like me, who don’t believe,
What still remains that might relieve
This pain that’s just an echo, yet
Is something we will not forget?

There’s nothing, naught, except to strive
To end this curse while still alive—
To try, by every means, to bend
Our species towards this horror’s end.
 
Could those of us, who pay our taxes,
Refuse to pay these, till the axis
Joining this to endless pain
Can never, ever work again?
 
2023 December 1^st, Fri.
Berkeley, California

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

With many bows to William Blake:

The Tyger

Woe

Woe

How much of good intention,
That does not listen too,
Can lead to tribulations
For such as me and you.

We do not know each other's minds.
Suspicion then is bred.
When trust is violated,
Then all grows dark--or red.

How much misunderstanding
Has led to needless wars!
How much of blood is wasted
For Venus or for Mars!

We go about our business,
Not looking down the street,
Where those who're wretched gather,
In the sun or in the sleet.

When ignorance is sacred,
To Mammon then we bow.
How little is our knowledge!
How much we do not know!
 
How much of evil rises
From blindness of the heart!
How much of woe, imparted
Through guns or legal art!

How bitter is enslavement
That tortures body-mind!
How dear is freedom’s potion
That’s still so hard to find!

The winds are strong. The tempest
Has darkened sky and sea.
We pray, amidst the tumult,
For calm again to be.

The fever still is rising.
We shiver, toss in pain.
Oh when will this be over,
So we are well again?

There’s darkness, grief and sorrow,
Deception, slaughter, pain.
But there’s light and joy and laughter,
And there’s hope that burns again.

2016 May 26th, Thu.
Brooklyn, New York

   

Sin

Sin

Lead us not into temptation
And deliver us from evil.
Amen.

We blame a class, a race or other group—
There are professions that are often blamed.
But it’s the nature of the human beast
That’s still the culprit for the mischief done.

For every virtue, every angel-trait,
We’ll find a vice, a sort of devil’s taint,
That mars the soul within a human or
Perhaps within all beings sentient.
 
If we had only virtues, then perhaps
We might be far too boring.  Light and shade
And vice and virtue, good and evil are,
Like yin and yang, in constant interplay.

So some might say that vice gives virtue place,
As hunger gives to plainest food its taste.
Without the sins that sinners multiply,
Could even saints be duly recognized?
 
And what, to me, is virtue could be seen
As vice to one whose values are reversed.
And yet, there still are basics that appear
To be the common ground on which we stand.

So save for prophetesses such as Ayn,
You’ll rarely find that people disagree
That selfish actions lead to evil ends,
While love and caring make for brighter lives.

For this, we might invoke a spirit that
Is root and essence of what’s seen as good,
And all that’s evil might be then ascribed
To visions clouded—or to a spirit dread.

But others might look back at what we were
When we were closer in our lives to apes
But rose and flourished from that sharing which
We still perceive as good—which touches hearts.

So "good", to them, is that which served us well
In eons past, when mind and body formed
To suit the circumstances then—for though
The times have changed, we still remain the same.

I will not enter into these debates.
I’ll only say that instincts old and deep
Respond to kindness—and that meanness brings
Yet other, meaner instincts into play.

To strive to be as supermen is fraught
With danger. We are always what we are.
We should be cognizant of what’s within
And seek a balance that sustains us all.

For when that balance is disturbed, we see
The sorrow that is not of earth or air
Or water, but is made by acts of men
And leads to yet more sorrows, turn on turn.

The earthquakes and the storms and floods may leave,
But fires rage and droughts and famines come.
Yet all of these, by men and all, are borne
With lesser pain than monstrous deeds of Man.

A fire may burn a forest down and yet
It leaves a part of it—and then with time
That forest lives again. What Man has touched
With devil's hands, no heaven can restore.

Be watchful then. Remove yourself from that
Which leads to conflicts with your inner god,
Who then is either silenced, leaving sin
To flourish, or cries out in pain within.

The ones, who cannot silence conscience, live
With ceaseless war within themselves, unless
They speak and act to change what often is
Impossible when others shrug and sin.
 
It wasn’t Adam or his partner, Eve,
Or a serpent leading both of them astray.
It’s we, who look to God to salve our sins,
Forgetting god and devil are within.

We lose our way and cannot find the path.
We lose our reason and we close our hearts.
It later seems that we were not awake
And so committed acts we shouldn't have.

The heart expands with kindness and with love,
Which spread like blessings when they’re acted on.
The heart contracts with meanness and with hate
And all our words and deeds of violence.

It’s difficult, within the fire, to be
As cool of temper as we’d like to be.
It’s hard, when we are stressed and desperate,
To be as kind and patient as we should.

So what are we to do?  Perhaps it’s best
To move away from all that meanness breeds—
To distance selves from where it’s fear and greed
That drive the engines of economies.

Although that’s easier said than done, to see
The source of evil, of disturbance, is
To step away from it, towards that calm
That gives us time and space to see and love.

We come like water and like wind we go.
So said Khayyam, Fitzgerald’s paraphrase
Purports.  If we should pray, perhaps we need
To ask for courage and for innocence.

So let us then release the things, to which
We hold, that rob us of our clarity.
That freedom might be difficult to reach,
Until we see we’re sullied by our vice.

There’s anger, greed and hate and jealousy.
And each of these, and even pride, has place
Within the workings of the mind that lives,
But each of these can lead us into sin.

For sin is not the thought that comes and goes
Or even stays awhile.  For thoughts may rise
And feelings too.  It’s when they’re nurtured and
They’re acted on that sin is birthed and born.

So let us heed what Buddhas past have said
To free ourselves of what some others call
The burden that we carry of our sins.
Let’s set it down and go upon our way.

We recognize a thought, a feeling and
We see, perhaps, its provenance as well.
We watch its rise and then we watch its ebb.
We do not ask that it should go or dwell.

We do not fear the feeling that we have,
And even fear, we know, has time and place.
We come like water, and we go like wind.
Forgive us, for we know that we have sinned.

And knowing this, we then might lose, perhaps,
Our hubris and might also find the strength
To heal from wounds that others might inflict,
Forgiving them, in our humility.

Lead us not into temptation
And deliver us from evil.
Amen.

2015 September 3rd, Thu., 2:30 am
Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, New York
  

On Human Nature

On Human Nature  (Draft)
  
  

Human Evolution
http://philosophicaldisquisitions.blogspot.com/2011/10/is-there-connection-between-human.html

If we would praise our species’ virtues, then
we can’t be silent on its vices.  Those
who’re blind to one or other might portray
the human race as one of angels or
of devils—yet the truth is in between.

We’ve made our gods in human likeness and
our demons too are modeled on ourselves.
Perhaps these are in all that lives, and yet
we see them clearest in our closest tribe—
the one that’s human, touched by grace and sin.

We even die for others. So do ants.
But humans can transcend the bounds of kin
and even species—much as dogs might do.
We’re not unique—and yet this quality
of sacrifice of self’s a sainted thing.

And yet we murder, pillage, torture, rape—
as other species do, except we’ve moved
to make these things our hallmarks. We will kill
for no good reason, using devilish means.
We’ve laid to waste a planet, with a shrug.

So—gods or devils?  Sainted angels or
a demon's spawn of scoundrels? We are both.
Though surely what’s in us must be, in part,
in other species too, our qualities
of evil, unrestrained, are perilous.

It’s said that humans reason. Yet our hearts
are swayed too easily by passions and
our heads are addled by assumptions false.
We rarely question those we follow, as
we move in mobs and ape our conquerors.

And yet our human nature still remains
the thing we have to work with. That is all.
No theory that exalts a class or race
above another or assigns it blame
will hold if we inspect its basic claims.

And those who say that we should educate,
uplift the masses—they forget that they
are often as misled or more than those
they seek to “raise”.  Let other beings be.
Look to yourself, if you would dare to see.
 
2015 August 19th, Wed., 10:55 pm
Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, New York 
    

Fun
http://authordebliv.authorsxpress.com/2012/06/01/human-nature-life-connection/

 

The Softer Voice

 
The Softer Voice
 
Be it chicken, pig or human, or a fish that swims the seas,
There’s an eye in every being, that’s recording what it sees.
And the record of the ages is a tale of endless woe,
And the promise of the future is of sorrows, even more.
 
And we glorify our species, and we name it “man the wise”,
But our history is bloody, though it’s hidden by our lies –
Horror heaped on horror, through the eons since the flood,
On us humans by us humans, in a world awash in blood…
 
Are we angels, are we devils, are we somewhere in between?
We are surely born of demons, for our actions are obscene.
But in babies as in puppies, and in grasses growing green,
For the eye that knows to see it, there’s the essence soft, serene.
 
There’s the pup that softly whimpers, there’s the little kitten’s mewl.
There’s the girl in class who’s ailing, but who follows still the rule.
There’s the leaf that’s sadly drooping and that soon will die of thirst.
There’s the gentle voice that’s calling, in a world with deafness cursed.
 
Should we go about our business, should we hurry even more?
Should we speed upon the highways, should we shun the byways slow?
There’s that softer voice that’s calling, there’s the silence of the stars.
We can choose to see and listen; we can choose to end the wars.
 
In the stillness of the sunset, in the quiet of the dawn,
In the trusting eyes of children, who were here but now are gone,
We can sense that there’s a heaven, in the midst of all the hells.
For there’s such a thing as healing – and there’s still the love that wells.
  
Forgive the ones who slaughter, forgive the ones who slay.
They know not what they’re doing, as their demons, they obey.
But don’t forget the slaughtered; have them ever in your mind.
As you go about your business, remember to be kind.
 
2014 December 17th, Wed.
Brooklyn, New York
   

Trouble

    
Trouble
   
I was sitting by myself today
And thinking this and that,
When thoughts that weren’t mine came by
And struck me as I sat.

And how I knew they weren’t mine
I find it hard to tell.
I  know my face, I know my voice –
I know my thoughts as well.

“It’s strange,” I thought, about my thoughts
(Which weren’t really mine),
“That I can think another’s thoughts
As an actor reads a line.”

And so I sat and thought those thoughts
That came there, floating by,
Will thinking too, about those thoughts
And how they came and why.

And what those thoughts might be (or were)
I really can’t recall,
For as they came, from nowhere, so
They vanished, one and all.

But while they stayed with me, they gave
Me cause enough to worry.
I feared perhaps I’d stolen them,
For which I might be sorry.

What would I say, if someone came,
Demanding their return?
And might I then be hauled to court,
To face a judgment stern?

“I  find you guilty, Joseph Shmoe,
Of stealing something precious!
To a kennel, I do sentence you –
With angry pit-bulls vicious!”

How many levels could there be
Of thinking about thinking?
And could a mind be drowned by this –
From such a burden, sinking?

The more I thought about the thoughts
That filled my weary head,
The more my worries grew, until
I wished that I was dead.

But then I thought, it could well be
If I, that instant, died,
To thinking about thinking, still
My mind might then be tied.

And so, for all eternity,
In a kind of thinker’s hell,
My blameless soul unjustly might,
Alas, forever dwell.

“Oh here lies he who thought some thoughts
(Not his), one sunny Monday,
And so expired, his mentem crushed
By pondus cogitandi.

“And since he still was thinking when
He left our mortal world,
To hellfire, that of thinking, he
Was then, by demons, hurled.”

This epitaph could well be mine,
Inscribed upon a stone.
For purloined thoughts, I might perhaps
In a fiery hell atone.

And were perhaps these thoughts (not mine),
A snare, by devils, set?
Oh, like a fish, I’d swallowed bait!
The hook and line, I’d get!

And thinking this, I panicked and
I bolted from my seat,
While thinking that, by doing this,
Those demons, I could cheat.

For I had heard that predators
Prefer a seated prey.
From one that swiftly moves about,
They tend to shy away.

And so I hopped about – and then
I twisted and I jerked,
While hoping, by these tactics, I’d
Get rid of thoughts that irked.

And I recalled that I had seen
A dog, beset by a flea,
Behave exactly as I did –
As mad as a man could be.

I thought, perhaps I’d better flee
The confines of my house.
It’s said that sunshine is a thing
That irks the flea and louse.

And who should then come strolling by,
As I ran out my door,
But a neighbor, who was known to spy –
And to gossip, even more.

She watched me hop and jerk and twist,
And her mouth was open wide.
I saw her hand was over it,
Her tonsils, so to hide.

“Oh walk along!” I cried to her.
“It’s just a doggone flea.
I think it came from a passing bitch,
Which you, perhaps, might be!”

I saw her  eyes then open more
And stare at me in shock.
I bolted back then, through my door,
And  loudly turned the lock.

But when I heard that solid sound,
I felt a strange elation.
For lo – those thoughts had left me for
Some other destination!

I wondered whether she, who’d stood
So still, as I was moving,
Was now the latest victim of
The demon, fiercely roving.

The pestilence had passed – perhaps
To her, who’d stood and gawked.
If so, it served her right, I thought,
Who gossip sought and hawked!

“Oh joy!” I thought, “I’ve rid myself
Of thoughts that weren’t mine.
To think my own thoughts once again –
Is truly quite divine!”

How pleasantly I pass my days,
Unburdened of that weight!
How hellish life must be for her,
Who spared me from my fate!

I sometimes feel a little twinge
Of pity – but no more
Than would that minstrel of the dark,
Our Edgar Allen Poe.

2014 May 19th Mon & 20th Tue
Brooklyn, New York
 

The Bitch – Part I

    
The Bitch – Part I  
 
There are those who’re filled with malice, till it’s grown to be an evil.
There are others, who are sainted, with whose kindness, who can cavil?
But the common man is middling – not a devil or a saint.
And I’ll say that I am common, till you tell me that I ‘aint.

I have met so many people, in my years upon this Earth,
That they seem to blur together, as I’m readied for the dirt.
But there are those, who stand out clearly, as I lie upon my bed.
And I think I’ll have them with me, till I’m well and truly dead.

And some there are, whose presences, remembered, bring a smile,
And others, who bring shudders, for their actions that were vile.
And chief among the latter, is a figure I remember –
And though I often wish it, that I still cannot dismember.

I have tried to clear that image, that is evil, from my mind,
I have tried out that forgiveness, that in trials, we might find.
And in failing, I have ventured then to cut it into pieces,
And to burn the shredded fragments, as they did with Luther’s theses.

But for all my mental labors, I was greeted, at the end,
By the selfsame evil visage.  Not an eyelash could I bend
Nor a single mole make vanish.  I was seared, as with a brand!
So I’ll tell you of this person, and then perhaps you’ll understand.

I had met her in the workplace, when I'd first begun to work
And the chains of my enslavement hadn't started yet to irk.
I was innocent of malice – and, despite the sin of Adam,
Had been free of stain of evil, till I met up with this madam.

As I said, I’d joined the workforce, found a place where I could work.
I was bright and I was ready, not inclined or trained to shirk.
But the workers, they were restive – not because they weren’t rich,
But in consequence of saddling, so they murmured, by a "bitch”.

I had learned there was a woman who had reigned there for a while.
She would watch you like an eagle, and would rarely ever smile.
But her look, when she was smiling, wasn’t pleasant. It would chill.
For her smiling was a signal she was wishing someone ill.

And the workers had informed me: – she had risen up so fast
That at first they thought it likely that her tenure wouldn’t last.
But the things she lacked in graces weren’t what the job required.
And her status, as a “mover”, she had ruthlessly acquired.

For she hustled and she jostled and she rode the others rough.
And she always won her battles, but would never say, “Enough!”
And they feared her tongue and temper, and the coldness in her eye,
As they knew she wouldn’t hesitate to knife them with a lie.

And they said that she was Irish – but an Irish that was cold.
For her hair was red and flaming, and her speech was often bold,
But her eyes were calculating, and a pale and evil blue,
And whenever you were near her, they were coldly watching you.

It’s the fate of those religions, that have ceased to be in favor,
To be icons of what’s evil, in the phrases that we savor.
It’s the fate of the non-humans, to be utilized for purses,
From their carcasses refashioned – while their names are used as curses.

So the workers who had suffered, from that ogre in the office,
From the cynical old veteran to the fresh, astounded novice,
And were powerless to counter her, would either mutter, “Witch!”
And if Christians, duly cross themselves – or softly utter, “Bitch!”

And so it was, with not a bit of angst and trepidation,
That I viewed this dismal damsel, with her fearsome reputation.
And I slyly tried to hide myself – and was anxious in my work,
For I feared that I’d be noticed – or have errors that could irk.

But he told me – another worker, who was seasoned more than I –
To be watchful, yes – but fearful, no.  For we only once would die.
And to spend our lives as cowards, was to spend our lives in shame.
If we still would choose to do this, we'd have only selves to blame.
   
So with words of his emboldened, I then straightened up my back,
And found solace, even courage – that's a quality I lack.
I no longer hid from eyesight, and I held my head up high,
And I even dared to venture once to look her in her eye.
 
2014 March 8th, Sat.
Brooklyn, New York
 

Wars

Wars

An empire, like a fiefdom, feeds
On fear and greed and evil.
There rarely is a shortage of
These victuals of the Devil.

There’s malice in the hearts of men.
It lies there like a snake.
And when the time is opportune,
That serpent does awake.

And many are the stories told,
That feed our pride in nations –
And in our empires too, that grow
Like spreading  infestations.

No empire could have conquered lands
Or lasted, sans this malice.
And though a nation spins its tale,
It’s one that’s fit for Alice.

So neighbor turns on neighbor,
And a brother on his brother.
What one may see as treachery
Is fortune to another.

We covet land, we covet more,
We covet till we die.
And though the simple truth is greed,
It’s covered by the lie.

We're fed the tales that we believe,
Where myth adds spice to fact.
And this concoction, we devour,
And with conviction act.

But there are also bonds that served
Us well, in clans of yore,
And these, by fiefdoms, utilized,
Result in yet more gore.

And humans have a tendency
To worship those with power.
They kick the ones “below”.  To those
“Above”, they bow and cower.

And this perhaps had served for our
Survival.  Yet we see
How it ensures that humans now
As toiling slaves must be.

And all these things I listed that
In human natures are –
They're utilized, in factories –
And in the fields of war.

So every virtue, in its turn,
And surely, every vice,
Is used by those, who’re canny, so’s
To tighten more, the vise.

****** 
  
We kill and die for nations as
We once had done for clans.
Our empires feed on horrors – yet,
Like horror-films, have fans.

Our soldiers march in step towards
Their deaths, in senseless wars,
And yet we justify what isn’t
Just – or blame the stars.

Our armies slaughter thousands in
The lands across the seas.
So terror stalks those ravaged lands,
Where horrors do not cease.
   
When we've unleashed the forces that
Subsist on human malice,
Can we then claim that we are still
As innocent as Alice?
  
And yet we celebrate our selves.
We hail our godly nation.
And we agree to feeding more
Our engines of damnation.

And so it was for empires past
And nations ‘round the world,
Who fought – and fight – in lunacy,
With men in ovens hurled.

And if the ones, who kill and die,
The bitter truth are told,
They still believe the sweetened lie
Which all of us are sold.

For phantasms are what they are –
Our nations, built by men.
And they dissolve when we attempt
Their nature, true, to ken.

For phantasms, we kill and die –
For phantasms and lore.
So was it in the past and so
It is, in blood and gore.

And yet there still are reasons why
The men and women die,
There’s reason why the children wail,
There’s reason for the lie.

And this is what we each must find –
And this takes time and trouble.
It’s only when we see the “why”
That we can prick the bubble.

But know – that those who’re heartless, find,
In every war, a profit.
And though they know on what they feed,
They’re never sickened of it.

As long as men are herded and
To herders, bow and scrape,
So long will they, from factories
And armies, not escape.

But when we men and women serve
No bosses, seek no slaves –
As  equals, then, we all shall make
A people, true, of braves.

When charity replaces more
The malice in our hearts,
Then empires will be starved – and so
Will all their evil arts.

But this will not be what we see
On rising in the morrow.
That dawn must break within ourselves
So we can end this sorrow.

When factories will crumble and
When armies will disband,
Then humans will be humans true –
And walk then hand in hand.

But this again is but a dream,
Until we make it true.
But hark!  You’ll hear the children scream –
Because of me and you.
  
We still have better instincts left
That at such things revolt.
But there are instincts too, that serve
To keep those calls on hold.

For if we try to answer them,
We may ourselves be lost.
How many hear that distant cry
And rise, to bear the cost?
   
For most will say, “Let children scream,
Out there, so far away.”
But when that sound gets nearer, will
We still then turn away?

2014 March 2nd, Sun.
Brooklyn, New York   
   

The Pirate's Motive

  
The Pirate's Motive
      
I asked you kindly.  You replied,
“I love you not, so leave me be.”
And so, despairing, I departed.
Now I sail upon the sea.

I sail with pirates – and the flag
They hoist when they have looted is
The skull and crossbones that are feared
By those who flee from ships like this.

And when, to England, I return,
If I survive this piracy,
I'll come to you again and ask
If you, at last, would marry me.

Methinks my poverty had led
To your rejection of my suit.
If so, with remedy in hand,
I shall resume that dear pursuit.

For though you said you love me not,
My love for you burns steadily.
I seek to raise myself for this –
That you may find some worth in me.

And though I gain in wealth from this,
By bloody slaughter if need be,
The gain I truly seek is bliss,
When you finally heed my plea.

And if I'm slaughtered in my turn –
Then you'll know, from this my brief,
The reason why I don't return.
For love is all my reason's thief.

2014 February 17th, Mon. 8:30 am
Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, New York 
 

A Hell on Earth

                
A Hell on Earth

We live in times, when all across the world
The people and their nations turn insane.
And some may say that this was always so,
But in our madnesses, there are degrees.

Wherever there are wars that do not end,
Wherever there is endless violence,
It’s clear that reason’s fled – and minds and hearts
Are sickened by a plague that feeds on men.

But even where the slaughter is far less,
At least of humans, in our cities, towns –
And even now in furthest villages,
Our evil scourges are alive and well.

For humans live as captive zombies might.
They run through hectic lives, in mindless haste,
Or fall in spells of utter, sad, despair
And even seek to exit life itself.

******
 
Amidst this madness, some might dare to say,
“Let's stop this thing, for this is cruelty,
A mad stampede that tramples those who’re frail
And those who pause to question or reflect.”

They're ridiculed or persecuted and
Are silenced soon enough by those who rush
To play the games that lead us all to hell.
The oven’s doors are closed to those within.

And in that oven, humans bake and burn.
They cannot think or speak, from murderous stress.
For even as we burn away the Earth
And all its species, so we murder selves.

So how, within this fatal fever, can
We find our peace, our bit of sanity?
Or is that mission too a sad defeat,
That lets the sickness work its evil more?

******
     
For if the nations and their peoples have
Been so possessed by madness that we turn,
To this, an eye that’s blind – and only seek
A shelter for our selves, then can this end?

Can Ms. or Mr. Lemming pause and yet
Remain alive?  Can nations not “progress”?
I do not know – and so I ask you this,
And pray you will not take it as remiss.

For wealth can never equal happiness,
And poverty is made by those who race.
And till we find the time and strength to ask
The questions that we don’t, this will not end.

But few have time – and even fewer, strength.
With workers squeezed, who still has leisure left?
And those retired, or those who’re affluent
Are either tired – or profit from the stress.

2013 Dec. 11th, Mon, 2:24 am
Bensonhurst, Brooklyn
     

Genghis Khan Has Come To Town

             
Genghis Khan Has Come To Town
                                 
Awake, oh citizens of the ancient city,
When you were sleeping, waiting for the dawn,
A horde had gathered and, before the sun,
Had entered this, your city, as the gates
Were opened by the gatemen, they who saw
The army stretching to the distant north…

Awake, oh citizens, awake and see
The Mongol horde is here, with all the rest.
And many are their tongues -- but they are one,
United in their lust for conquest, loot,
For women that they’ll rape or take as slaves…
Awake, for Genghis Khan is in your town!

And when you see the soldiers, look away,
But when you see their lordlings, then bow low.
We have survived invasions, plagues, before.
So to this tempest bend, and it will pass,
And then we’ll nurse our injured, bury those
Who gave their lives – and carry on.

But sing the praises now of conquerors.
In Mongol, sing – for I will show you how.
We all will sing, as we had done before,
We’ll sing the praises of our conquerors.
We'll imitate their ways and learn their tongues…
Sing now, “Genghis Khan has come to town…”

2013 November 24th, Sun.
Bensonhurst, Brooklyn